


Sherlock drabbles (1st collection)

by fragiledrug



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2011-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragiledrug/pseuds/fragiledrug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of five drabbles with varying perspectives and themes to the prompts noise, skin, riding, purple and bucket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock drabbles (1st collection)

**Noise**

It’s been two weeks since our last case. The first week, Sherlock was only just starting to feel the itch of boredom. Now, however, his brain is scratching itself raw, and I can tell, and I wish I could help but I feel like he’s far beyond my reach. The noise of his brilliant thoughts must be deafening when there’s nothing to focus them on.

Still, I have to try. Settling next to him where he’s hunched in on himself on the couch, I lean against him. “Tell me something, anything.”

Slowly but surely, he talks and I simply listen.

* * *

 **Skin**

The way his fingertips ghosted down his spine made John inhale sharply. He could never just touch, no; he had to thoroughly investigate, explore. Sherlock made a soft sound John translated as intrigue and tilted his head back slightly to see him in his periphery.

“What?”

“You’re very warm.”

“People are warm, Sherlock.”

“I don’t care about people at the moment.”

The next thing he knew, Sherlock’s lips were pressed to his lower back. John sighed, relaxing back against the bed. He’d never felt more comfortable in his own skin than when Sherlock was memorizing its various lines and contours.

* * *

 **Riding  
**  
Sherlock tried and failed to hold in a low, throaty groan as he slowly lifted himself off John, pulling nearly all the way off before falling back down, firmly impaling himself on the other man’s cock. John’s expression would be his undoing; his eyes closed, mouth open, head thrown back as he lost himself to the way Sherlock was riding him.

“Fuck, John, stop that.”

“Stop—ahhh—what?”

“Your face.”

“Mn?”

John’s hips chose that moment to buck up harshly and Sherlock’s last remaining thoughts scattered with a sharp inhale of breath.

He couldn’t think, and it was absolute bliss.

* * *

 **Purple**

 ****John heaved an exasperated sigh. It was bad enough their living room looking very much like a tornado had just gone through, but repeatedly finding Sherlock’s laundry mixed in with his own was becoming a bit too much. He had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t accidental either. And this time, his damn purple shirt had bled into one of his favorite sweaters! He was seriously lucky the shirt just happened to look amazing on him or John might have thrown it away out of spite. Instead, he folded it and set it aside, making a note to lecture him later.

* * *

 **Bucket**

 ****John stared at the bucket sitting rather conspicuously on their coffee table. He’d just gotten home from a shift at the hospital. Sherlock was no where to be found. Sighing, he hung his coat up and slowly, carefully approached the bucket. Curiosity killed cats, he reminded himself as he peered down inside it, to find –

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?” came a muffled reply from the bathroom.

“Why is there a bucket full of… cat eyes… on the coffee table?”

“Don’t touch that; it’s an experiment.”

“…of course it is. Does it have to be on the coffee table?”

There was no response.


End file.
